Loneliness
by defiaureve
Summary: The first time she was hopeful, the second time she was just a hopeful, and the third she felt her hope die a little and loneliness moved in. This is a filler story for the time between Que Sera Sera and Son of Coma Guy and does contain spoilers.


Loneliness

by Felicia

Disclaimer: Fox and David Shore own House, not me. I seek to realize no profit and all that other legal stuff that will keep me from being sued.

The first time she was hopeful, wanting more than anything to be part of the lucky, albeit small, group of women the in vitro treatments worked for. She had taken every injection, twice a day for two weeks. She had taken red clover to help put the odds in her favor. She had even enlisted House to help her find genetic perfection in the mountain of donor files from the sperm bank. She had done everything right and the first time had failed. The same was true with her second attempt, and now her third. And for the third time, she felt a fool for ever having hope that the IVF would lead to success. For ever having hope that she would be a mother. As she threw the plastic stick of disappointment into the waste basket, Lisa Cuddy began to doubt her worth as a woman. _Idiots can create a child_, she thought bitterly.

In her life, Lisa Cuddy had managed to achieve every goal she set for herself. She was valedictorian at her high school graduation, she graduated in the top of her class at college, and now she ran one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. She was successful. But she wasn't happy. Not the real happiness achieved from the things in life that really mattered to her. She hadn't been on a real date in more than two years, her social life was in a coma, and most recently, she was unable to conceive a child. Beyond Princeton Plainsboro, behind the doors of the home her success had afforded her, in her eyes, in this moment and those like it, she saw a failure of a woman.

She reached forward and snatched the bag from the waste basket next to the toilet, tying it up, trapping the reminder of her disappointment inside. She carried the bag through the house and out her back door, dropping it in the can to be taken to the curb on the next collection day and hauled far enough away to reduce the sting to bearable. On her way back through the kitchen, she stopped at the freezer and dug out the pint of emergency death by chocolate, one hundred percent ice cream. Prying the lid off the container, she grabbed the sprinkles from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer, _calories and waist line be damned,_ she mentally snarked at herself. Ice cream and a hot bath would be far better than getting tanked and numbing her emotions for too brief a time.

As she padded back to her bathroom, she mulled over every failed in vitro attempt to date. Carefully combed through the details surrounding each procedure. Searching for something she could have done differently to increase her chances. She had been extremely cautions, protecting this dream as anyone would something so fragile. The hot water filled the tub inch by inch, and the pint of ice cream disappeared bite by bite. Lisa Cuddy stripped off her clothes, layer by layer and sank down in the water, a little too warm but she was a step or two beyond noticing.

_Maybe I'm not even meant to be a mother. Hell, I don't even have time for a life outside the hospital, let alone to raise a child. _As the heat of the water began to melt away pain and relax tense muscles, Cuddy's thoughts became a little less critical. _Maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should be taking a more natural approach. _This thought made her scoff, it had been longer than she cared to think about since she had practiced the old fashioned approach to procreation. _I've probably forgotten how. And who has the time to date anyway? I'm not going to sleep with just anyone and the only person I would be remotely interested in naturally creating a child with is _not _the father type. I don't think._

Deciding that extensive thinking at that point in time was a less than great idea, she put her head back on the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. Visions of one man limped through her semi-conscious thoughts. Creeping out of the shadows of her irrational thoughts, or at least the thoughts she felt were irrational. He was a colleague, an employee of sorts, a mad scientist who made her life miserable, and one of, if not _the _best, doctors she had. He was a friend – a trusted friend, despite his flaws and reputation – and at times like these, he was the only person she could picture herself with. They had made things work once before, for a while. And if they worked at it, harder at times than others, they could make things work again.

She reached for the towel that she had carefully laid on the toilet and slowly stood. Wrapping the towel around her small frame, she gently climbed out of the tub, eyes darting toward the trash can, her heart cracking a little more at the memory from a few moments ago. Her phone rang before she could begin toweling off and she tried to ignore it. After seven rings, it stopped, only to start up again a heartbeat later. _House_, she thought, and toyed with the idea of ignoring the ringing altogether. _He'll probably show up here if I don't answer_.

Before Cuddy could say hello, House began speaking. "I've been thinking about names. You shouldn't name your kid after me, as tempting as it may be."

"House . . ."

"No, Greg. House is a silly first name for a kid. It would be like naming Junior after a piece of fruit like some of these actors do these days. Anyway, having me for a namesake would put all kinds of pressure on the kid to live up to his _or her_ namesake."

He didn't know. He didn't know that the test was negative. That she was bruised and fragile, so close to crumbling like her dream after every failed test. _"House!_ I'm not pregnant."

"So you keep saying. The boobs, the hips, the . . .," he continued in his usual arrogant fashion.

How she wished his certainty could translate into reality. That his certitude alone would fill her empty womb with the life she longed to create. "The test was negative. I'm not pregnant."

"Cuddy, out of everything I know about the in vitro process, the only important thing that applies to you is that it's a waste of time with a bod like yours. You could have any guy in Princeton, or New Jersey for that matter, just take your pick. Find someone you like and go at it like rabbits until you manage to create a mini-you."

"Yeah, its that easy," she gave an exaggerated eye roll that he couldn't see, "I'm just going to go to a random bar, hit on the first guy that makes my blood boil and bring him home for a night or two of wild, meaningless sex."

"You could always pick someone you know." He suggested as if it were the easiest, most obvious choice in the world.

"Someone I know or someone I like?" They had had this conversation before when she first started this in vitro nightmare, or one similar. He had told her then she should pick someone she liked, and that statement alone had nearly convinced her to ask him to be her donor.

She could almost hear the shrug on his end of the line. "Depends on how choosey you are, and since you are going through a sperm bank, you obviously aren't that picky. Just show up at work tomorrow, grab the first man that walks, or limps," he mumbled in addition, " through the door at nine-thirty and drag them into an exam room."

She sighed, "sometimes you are such an ass, House."

"Its my specialty, or so I'm told. You know, after thinking about that bod of yours, I'd be willing to volunteer for a rehearsal or two, help you perfect your performance for the actual event." Silence. "So, should I come over?" More silence. "Great, I'll be there in twenty minutes, ten if I run red lights."

As the line went dead she managed to squeak out a "Hou . . ." She had been so uncharacteristically stunned by his forwardness that she hadn't been able to form a coherent protest until it was too late. She had expected him to do anything but attempt to comfort her. Congratulating her sincerely on her failure and promptly pointing out all the good points of a child free life would have seemed more his style. But comfort? Even if it was not so well hidden behind his unique brand of witticism. _But_ _he wasn't serious,_ she thought and dialed his home phone, hanging up before the first ring. _Of course he was kidding, he wouldn't actually leave his home for anything_ _less than a sure thing. And no answer is far from confirmation. For normal people,_ she continued to think. No, House wouldn't joke, not this time, because that was what she was expecting.

_No, he'll come limping down the hall, after breaking in with my spare key, in the next few minutes. Because he's __**House**_, she thought as the war with herself continued on. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still wrapped in a towel, and otherwise very much naked. She began digging through her closet for a pair of jeans and a shirt that would give her a completely casual appearance, and wouldn't at all reflect how much she really wanted him.

Maybe House was the answer to a prayer she had been afraid to pray. House could be the end to the loneliness she had refused to admit to for so many years now. It amused her to think that such a misanthrope could help her achieve a lifetime of happiness. She quickly made her way into her bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush and rushing to rid her mouth of any remnants of her ice cream binge from earlier. As she padded back to the kitchen, Cuddy thought she heard a police siren somewhere down the street. She thought nothing of the siren until House didn't show up an hour later. When he didn't answer his home or cell phones, her heart broke a little more. And as she stripped off her jeans and shirt, replacing them with a set of pajamas, the little bit of hope she'd had of driving away the loneliness died.

The next afternoon, House limped into her office unannounced and uninvited. She was on the phone and he was wearing his "hang up, 'cause I'm not leaving" face. "I'm done discussing this. I expect the _full_ delivery here by this afternoon as promised or I _will _find another supplier." She hung up the phone and looked at House. "What do you want?"

"I didn't stand you up," he said, not wasting any time.

She shuffled some papers on her desk and skimmed a file she had open on her computer. "I didn't even think you were serious until Tritter showed up and told me he arrested you last not far from my house. You have really pissed this guy off. So much so, I don't think 'I'm sorry' is going to fix it. Why can't you just _listen_ to me when I talk?"

House shrugged, "I'm usually too busy picturing you naked. Maybe if you tried stripping down and lecturing me in your underwear . . . anyway, I can't go to jail. I'm too pretty."

"You're too much of an ass," she shot back. "Go to your office, do your job. Look up the definition of 'low profile' and do _not _piss off this patient."

"Yes, mistress. Should we reschedule our little rendezvous? At least that way I'll have a good alibi if he tries to pin unspeakable acts of terrorism on me. 'I'm sorry, Detective, I'm not your guy. I was with Dr. Cuddy all night. If you don't believe me, get consent for a vaginal exam.'"

Cuddy glared at him in a way he couldn't quite recall seeing before. "To your office, _now_."

House smirked and limped out of the office. He knew it was a good day when he extracted a new look of horror from Cuddy. After twenty plus years he was still able to shock her with new heights of crudeness.

Later when she brought him a piece of paper that contained the name of Princeton's best criminal lawyer, he knew that she would stand beside him for the duration of this nightmare. For the most part, House was a lonely man. But he was thankful, even if he didn't show it, that he had Cuddy's support when he needed it most.

After she left his office, and after House pitched the paper she had given him, he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe something good would come out of this entire Tritter fiasco. At the very least he and Cuddy might grow a little closer and drive away some of the loneliness they lived with on a daily basis.

The End


End file.
